


Brave

by Royal_Ranger



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ranger/pseuds/Royal_Ranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whispers surround him, suffocate him, crawl over him. He is brave in the face of danger, but sometimes he can't be brave in the face of words. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave

He walks down the streets of Konoha, mask hiding his face, his thoughts, his reactions. The only indication that he hears the whispers is the slight widening of his eyes. Only seasoned shinobi would catch his change of demeanor.

But the words in those whispers hit him harshly. Send him reeling. Stomach churning in turmoil. The mask upon his face the only thing preventing him from letting it out. That is unacceptable.

Dishonorable.

His father. He had done the unforgivable.

A child in a man's world.

He wasn't the same as that man.

Outcast.

He wouldn't be the same as that man.

Orphan.

It was that man's fault, not his.

Creepy.

Couldn't they see? Didn't they understand? To be a shinobi, he needed to act as an adult, if they found that creepy, well he was too busy. Too busy staying alive. And protecting them. By being dishonorable. Why couldn't they understand. He was no samurai. There was no honor in killing people silently, and then stealing into the night. There was no honor in being a shinobi. Only sneaking, and killing. The only tradition to be found was in passing on ways. Ways to keep silently dealing death at every corner. What did they think was more honorable? Killing oneself for breaking rules? Or keeping husbands, sons, wives, daughters, sisters, and brothers alive instead of following a piece of paper? Apparently the former. Apparently falling under social norms, accepting the inevitable, caving under the pressure of words would make for a better person.

So many times he had almost fallen, kept feeling whispers crawling under his skin. He was brave in the face of danger everyday. Couldn't they understand that coming back to more whispers ripped his mind and soul to shreds. For him, every negative thought weighed thousands on his back. The few positives pushed feebly back, helping carry the load, but unable to disperse it.

They have their opinions, while he has his. It seems at times, that he is more affected by them, than they are by him. The hateful words didn't need to be said. They didn't need to be carried on his back. They knew nothing of his life, only rumours, yet they insisted on judging him. Influencing him. Acting as though he couldn't have his own thoughts. No. He couldn't choose to make one person happy out of millions. They needed him to make everyone pleased. By changing who he was and what he did. But that was impossible. There would always be a different group, fighting to show displeasure. Stealing his chances of happiness to make their own.

Couldn't they see? He was tired. He wanted to rest. But he still had so many years ahead. Time to learn and be influenced. Time for the weight on his back to increase in density. Making him stumble.

The whispers on his skin were opinions though. Some he may not be able to change. But that was respected. They did not need to be changed. Just as his need not be changed. Just as there was no honor in his future of death.

He only wished the whispers would stop crawling underneath his skin.


End file.
